


make it hard (hard to speak)

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Lingerie, M/M, Niall likes it, Prompt Fill, Zayn wears a negligee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though it sounds like a risqué track to go down (or, Zayn feels, maybe Niall is pushing him up it instead) Zayn listens and watches; the thin, crisp paper crackles as it’s peeled back carefully in Niall’s lap to unveil the alleged only-a-little-bit-mental idea.</p><p>“There we go,” Niall grins, holding them up.</p><p>“Knickers,” Zayn states, half a question. “Are you taking the piss?”</p><hr/><p>Niall wants to try something, ft. Eleanor taking Zayn lingerie shopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make it hard (hard to speak)

**Author's Note:**

> My betas, [24horan](http://24horan.tumblr.com/) and [ghstys](http://ghstys.tumblr.com/), are responsible for making this readable!

“I’ve been thinking,” Niall says, voice suspiciously light.

“Uh oh.”

Niall’s brows drop and press together grumpily. “No, seriously, it’s not totally mental this time, just a _little_ bit.”

“Mmhm,” Zayn smirks, looking at the page number and then remembering that Harry bought him a bookmark. (It has dolphins on it, dear Lord.) “You’ve got my attention, but like, no promises.”

“Alright,” Niall nods. “Fair enough.”

It’s just like Niall to wait till Zayn’s already closed his book before he skips off to his room, trotting back in with a wide, flat box.

“Remember the _Best Song Ever_ video?” Niall says, lifting the lid as he chats. “Something like that, but not so… clothesy. They’re quite pretty, really.”

Even though it sounds like a risqué track to go down (or, Zayn feels, maybe Niall is pushing him up it instead) Zayn listens and watches; the thin, crisp paper crackles as it’s peeled back carefully in Niall’s lap to unveil the alleged only-a-little-bit-mental idea.

“There we go,” Niall grins, holding them up.

“Knickers,” Zayn states, half a question. “Are you taking the piss?”

The frown comes back. “What? No,” Niall insists, looking at the pair. He was probably very proud when he bought them, Zayn thinks, but this is ridiculous. “It’s not even a thong. It’s just like wearing briefs.”

“Yeah, except they’re knickers, and they’re _pink_ ,” Zayn reminds him.

“If you’re not into it, that’s fine,” Niall says carefully. “You don’t have to be a dick, though.”

“I’m not being a dick,” Zayn says. “It’s, like… Niall, they’re for _women_.”

“You let Harry paint your fucking _nails_ ,” Niall points out, like this is all an injustice to him. “But whatever, fine. Who gives a shit?”

He drops the knickers into their box and leaves.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn starts to get a guilt-ridden churn in his gut when, later that night, the sofa feels abnormally large. He and Niall were going to watch a film on the big telly, and even though they hadn’t even decided on one yet, Zayn knows that none of them are worth seeing when he had been so primed for a cuddly evening and nice, slow sex afterwards.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so dismissive, but— _knickers_. _Women’s underwear_. They’ve not even got room for his balls, he realises as he picks them up from the box he’d rejected and forgotten on the kitchen counter. He stretches the elastic between his two index fingers and pulls one out, watching the pair fly softly to the sink, then the floor.

 _Bed’s warm. Come over ?_ he texts to Niall.

He wanders about while he waits, convincing himself that he needs a beer and a snack in the meantime. When he gets back to his bed, Niall has replied.

_Busy._

Zayn frowns. Did Niall already make plans, even considering how late he’d left? Or is he avoiding Zayn? The latter seems more likely, since there’s no apology dotted at the end.

_Are you looking for more knickers? Aha_

This reply is quick, and it hurts because Zayn knows that it’s not playful with a half-grin or a mock-annoyed eye-roll;

 _Feck off_.

Maybe Zayn should’ve just worn the knickers.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“Maybe you should’ve just worn the knickers,” Louis shrugs.

“Thanks,” Zayn mutters, at the same time as Eleanor slaps Louis’ head with a magazine.

“Animal abuse,” Louis says. “Anyway, does it even matter?”

“It was probably just the way you handled it,” Eleanor says primly, sitting on Louis’ knee. He jolts her on purpose, catching her slim waist and faking innocence in a big grin. “You know Niall – he likes to be treated well.”

“Then _he_ can wear the bloody knickers,” Zayn snaps. He sighs and rubs his face. “Bah, sorry. Grumpy.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up and he looks to Eleanor like Zayn’s gone mad. He probably has.

“Why are you so opposed to wearing them?” Eleanor asks. “It’s like wearing briefs.”

“That’s what Niall said,” Zayn mumbles. “Like, they’re just, like… I don’t know. Why does he want me to wear women’s underwear? We’re men. They look tiny, like.”

“You’ll have to ask him that, lovely,” Eleanor says. “You could try them on when he’s not around, see how they fit. Give it a go, and if you’re really so dead-set that you can’t spare a bit of leeway, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“No harm, no foul,” Louis agrees.

“Ugh,” Zayn groans.

“There, there,” Louis whispers, giving him a cheeky pat on the head. “Drink your coffee, Bradford Bad-Boy.”

Louis gets away unscathed, bar a lethal glare and a few backup tuts from his girlfriend.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn gets home to find Niall on his sofa and half his fridge devoured. Niall apologises for throwing a strop, and Zayn apologises for being rude.

The box goes under Zayn’s bed.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

A week later, Niall leaves Zayn’s house after sleeping over, sated and with soft, gentle eyes.

“See you in a few days, mm?” Niall says.

“Yeah,” Zayn smiles. “Have fun in LA, love.”

Niall pulls himself away from a long, sad good-bye snog, wipes his mouth, and gets into the cab outside. He still has to pick up his things from his own place, but he has plenty of time.

For absolutely no reason whatsoever, Zayn remembers the knickers.

He’s trudging through his house and the realisation that they’re still under his bed just leaks into the thoughts of Niall. The whole fiasco concerning them hadn’t been much of a pleasant experience, but they’re still something that Niall gave him, even if he doesn’t know Zayn had kept the whole kit.

Behind the shoes that Niall had been trying to find before he left—Zayn thinks sadly that Niall is going to be gutted that they’re not back at his house like he’d thought—is the pink pillow cover. Zayn drags it out, pulling the end so that the box slips onto the floor.

As it turns out, there are also stockings, and neat little garters to go with it. Zayn leans against the frame of his bed, astounded. It hadn’t occurred to him how much Niall had thought this through, how much hope he’d held for a kinky night. Zayn inwardly groans at how immature he’d handled everything, and gingerly picks up his phone.

“Hello, Zayn,” Louis answers. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“This is Eleanor’s number, isn’t it? You don’t owe me shit,” Zayn smirks. “Where’s she?”

“Shower. I’ll get her to ring you back, babe,” Louis says.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“You can’t tell Louis.”

“I tell Louis everything,” Eleanor counters.

“No details, please,” Zayn compromises.

“Fine. Give us the box.”

Stomach protesting in discomfort, Zayn pulls the box from his Tesco’s reusable bag, one he’d picked to avoid suspicion from any looming paps.

Eleanor opens the box with the same care that Niall had, and Zayn hadn’t ever really thought underwear could cause such a big fuss in his life, but here he is, nervously trying to keep his cool as Eleanor surveys the situation.

“Oh my god,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, like—”

“They’re so _vanilla_ ,” she grins. “Zayn, you were worried about _these_? They’re _pink_ , for Christ’s sake.”

“They’re still knickers,” Zayn argues.

“Aw, and little socks, too,” she coos, dangling them by the garters. “Lovely, aren’t they?”

He gives her his best unimpressed smoulder.

“Come on, now,” she says softly. “You know that doesn’t work on me. I’m special.”

So Zayn goes to Plan B: Slump.

A frown draws on Eleanor’s pink lips. “Hey, none of that, either. Did you try them on?”

“No,” Zayn admits. “I was gonna, like, but I didn’t.”

“You’ll have to do it here, then,” she says. “Go on, into the bathroom.”

She gives him the knickers and nothing else, shocking Zayn with his own obedience as he strips off each layer till he’s naked. Threading his feet through the leg holes, he thinks offhandedly that for once he’s _glad_ to be a grower rather than a shower, because otherwise his dick most definitely wouldn’t fit.

As is, the knickers are snug. The front isn’t baggy enough, and he has no arse whatsoever, let alone enough to fill in the back. This feels silly. His legs are hairy and his hips are too small and his balls feel like they could slip out if he tries to move.

“Come through when you’re ready,” Eleanor calls.

This is stupid.

Zayn gives up, hands packed in front of his crotch as he tentatively enters the living room.

“In the bedroom,” she adds.

Suddenly this all feels very intimate and personal, more personal than he’d like to get with his best friend’s girlfriend, but he feels like he’s in too deep, like he owes her (and himself) at least a twirl and curtsy, as proof of how idiotic it is.

“If my balls pop out, could you, like, not scream?” he asks through the door.

“Not like I’ve never seen balls before or anything, but sure,” she replies.

He toes open the door like it could burn him, glad to see that Eleanor isn’t gawking obviously in his direction. Rather, she’s sewing a button onto her coat, finally looking up when she’s done.

“Move to the mirror, if you’d like,” she offers.

Zayn isn’t certain that he wants to see himself—his arms that refuse to bulk up despite the insane amount of training, his broad shoulders and little hips, and the coarse happy trail crawling up from the _fucking knickers_ —in the underwear which seems more comparable to a clown costume than anything else.

Moving her pins and such aside, Eleanor stands. Her hands gently coax Zayn’s arms out of their fold, away from his chest so that his body is open, along with his reflection.

“That isn’t so scary, is it?” she says knowingly.

Zayn swallows. It really isn’t, in a weird sort of way. He doesn’t look as awkward as he thought he would, the knickers not seeming displaced or girly on his figure at all. They just look… like briefs. Zayn nearly slaps himself.

In another way, though, he’s disappointed. He’d though he’d look… different.

Eleanor’s voice pulls on his thoughts. “How do you feel?”

“Alright,” he says simply.

“Just alright?” she hedges. “They’re knickers, Zayn, remember? Big, scary _knickers_.”

She grins but he holds his behind his teeth, mouth struggling at the corners.

“Feels good,” he admits. “Kinda… pretty, I think.”

“Yeah?” She bumps her hips carefully against his, like she’s aware of how uneven the amount of clothing is. “Would you like to come underwear shopping with me? We could get you something nicer, maybe a bit fancier than plain cotton.”

Whatever it is—Zayn is sure that it’s Eleanor, because she’s brilliant like that—Zayn feels a bit more courageous, but still nervous.

“Okay, cool,” Zayn nods.

“Really?” Eleanor asks.

“Yeah, like, it’s just knickers, right?” He puts his hands over his cock and goes back to get dressed.

“We could go today, if you’d like,” Eleanor says.

Zayn is riding a high at the moment, one he’s afraid to climb down from, so he takes it, nodding and smiling because this is the best he’s felt about the stupid knickers since Niall pulled them out of the box.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

At the shop, Zayn realises that he’s never been more blessed than now to have Eleanor as a mate.

It’s not just knickers – not anymore. There are bras, stockings, nighties, bathrobes, and a metric shittonne of other things that he has absolutely no names for.

“Oh my god,” he says softly, looking through the racks upon racks of underwear, a cross between amazed and horrified. “How do you choose?”

Eleanor shrugs. “Just find something you like. Something… you. What colour do you want?”

Zayn likes green, but it’s not a very sexy colour, so he goes for a cliché. “Red.”

“Then we’ll find something red,” she promises.

They find red knickers, which go straight into the basket. Zayn’s glad that money’s not an object, in the same way that he’s glad that it’s a Sunday morning, so the shop is mostly empty aside from a couple of women mulling over bras.

“Could I get… more than just the knickers, d’you think?” he asks tentatively.

Eleanor looks up, calm as ever, bless her. “What were you thinking?”

He doesn’t know how to pronounce it, so he just points discretely.

“Oh, sure,” she beams. “That’s a negligee.”

“Negligee,” he repeats quietly.

“Ooh, a red one,” Eleanor grins. “Do they have it in your size? Oh, here we go.” As she fans out the fabric, her face goes thoughtful. “I’ll take in the bra for you, but I think we’ll have to get a pair of black knickers as well, and I’ll see if I can find some red garters. Try these on.” She hands him the negligees, either oblivious to or altogether ignoring the matching crimson that’s scalding his face and neck.

Black lace lines the edges, but the rest is deep ruby-red, a slit cut down the middle from its underwire. Zayn chews his lips. It’s very pretty, but clearly made with the feminine figure in mind.

Zayn, well… He’s not the hourglass type at all.

“Just these three,” he mumbles to the lady at the doors, gesturing to his items.

“Don’t be embarrassed, love,” she grins. Her face is soft and withered, empathy lining her forehead. “We get all sorts in here. I’m sure that these will be lovely, but we have the same ones in men’s sizes. That is, without the cups.”

“Oh, like,” he says, flustered, “I don’t want to run you about.”

“No, really, it’s alright. If that’s what you’re looking for, it’s no hassle,” she assures him. Zayn wonders what kind of grandchildren this woman would have, not able to decide if they’d be lucky or not. “I’m not sure that they’re out of the storage room yet, just let me check.” She takes the negligees away and he immediately feels a sort of loss, which must be visible when he sees the defeat that slaps quickly onto Eleanor’s face as she eyes his empty hands.

“Zayn, I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to try these things before you give up,” she starts to say.

“I could only find two of the three sizes, but this looks like it could be you,” the lady says, closing the door behind her. Zayn looks smugly to Eleanor.

“They have _men’s sizes_ ,” he tells her.

“Well, good.” She leans in near the lady. “Saves me a bit of sewing, doesn’t it?”

Zayn leaves them to it, picking a room and hanging the _2_ card in front of the door. In just his briefs, he tries on the larger size first, finding a bit of trouble with the bra clasps, nothing he can’t handle on his own.

“How’s it look?”

“Hang on a second,” Zayn grumbles, shimmying out of it. Too big. “Have to try the other one on.”

This one is a perfect fit, and Zayn dares not look at himself in the mirror, because he trusts Eleanor’s eyes more than his own right now. He can’t chicken out if he can’t see himself.

“Okay, come in,” he calls.

Eleanor’s head peeks into the changing room, and her jaw drops, pride and giddiness rolling off of her in bucketloads.

“God, Zayn, it’s beautiful.” She gasps and reaches out for the lace at the edges of the fabric. “Wow, your stomach looks amazing.”

She turns him around before he can get a word in, and then— yeah, he sort-of understands what she means.

Between the slit, his abdomen looks not quite so muscular, softened by the sheer, silky material that drapes down his torso and just past his hips. He’d been worried about feeling too big for the dainty shape it seemed fit for, yet now that seems like such a faraway concern when his wide-eyed gaze smoothes over every inch of his reflection.

Eleanor adjusts one of the straps so that the cup is pulled flat. “Feel pretty?”

Zayn just nods. It’s a strange feeling, but… He _likes_ it.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“Missed you,” Niall mumbles.

He’s been like this all evening, getting snuggly and tender with his kisses and cuddles. As much as Zayn loves this—and he _really_ does—he’s not sure it’ll be handy to carry over to the bedroom when the time comes.

Eleanor showed him how to shave his legs the other day. Knees are tricky, but the rest is a breeze – Zayn managed to get away without a single cut. (He did have to use his beard trimmer the first time to stop his razor from clogging, and then go over his skin inch-by-inch to get rid of the _really_ thick hairs on his calves.) His bare skin is remarkably smooth against his jeans, and he feels it whenever he shifts, along with a sly shiver dancing down his spine that sparks up his excitement all over again.

“I got you something,” Zayn grins.

Niall perks up instantly. “Yeah? Can I have it now?”

“Wait here, I’ll get it,” Zayn offers, moving out of their scramble of limbs. He kisses Niall’s cheek messily just to get a cheap laugh, then starts jogging up the stairs.

Zayn is pumped. He is so ready for this, so prepared. There are nerves tangled in his brain—of course there are—but the unbridled joy of how happy Niall will be with him is just enough to trump the jitters.

Maybe that’s a thing he likes a little more than he should – pleasing Niall. What a switch in dynamic, he muses.

The knickers go on first. He’d tried all three pairs on separately with the negligee, but the black ones go so nicely with the lace and stockings that there’d been no competition. He clips on the garters and pulls up the sheer, black stockings to his upper thigh, careful not to tear them with his fingernails, which Eleanor had kindly painted a matte black.

“Go hard or go home,” she’d stated as she slid the brush down his thumbnail. “That’s what we’re all about.”

Finally, the negligee. Zayn’s actually started to get a little bit hard just putting it on, skin buzzing pleasantly as he looks himself over, the speckling of tats up his arm matching his outfit, checking that his face is properly shaven.

He struts (it’s the lingerie, he swears) to the stairs and yells, “I can’t find it. Com’ere a sec?”

Niall thump-thump-thumps up to Zayn’s room, and Zayn crooks one knee forward and slips his hand through his hair, chin tilted up and looking a lot braver than he feels. Maybe Niall just wanted the knickers. Maybe the rest is too much.

But there’s one thing that sticks – something Niall tells him all the time; that he is so good when he just lets himself _try_ , when he lets himself take risks.

All the worry melts when Niall brakes hard in the doorway, stumbling with just his hand on the frame to stabilise himself. His mouth was already open in the midst of an insult directed at Zayn’s organisation skills, but now his voice has gone faint, barely making it through another couple of words.

Zayn ruffles his hair slowly and then drags his fingers down the back of his neck, a pose he’d perfected in the mirror.

“Holy shit, Zayn.” Niall says it like he’s winded. “Holy fuck.”

Thank God that he’s capable of speech, even if they’re only four letters long. Zayn can work with that.

“Picked these out while you were away,” he smiles shyly. “Like it?”

“Fucking hell, of course.” Niall swallows. “Jesus, you really went all-out.”

Zayn shrugs his shoulders and pinches the edge of the negligee, teasingly opening the parting some more. Niall follows the movement with that recognisable sort of hunger, hand twitching at his side, looking like he wants to move but _can’t_.

“I haf’ta sit down,” he eventually grins, shaking his head.

He undoes his shoes as he sits near Zayn’s pillow, brows still raised past the swoop of his unstyled hair. This reaction is more than Zayn could’ve hoped for, and he soaks it in with a hot glow starting in his chest. He can’t help himself; he stands dead in front of Niall, tips his chin up, makes him look closely.

“Oh, god,” Niall sighs, leaning in to press his forehead against Zayn’s stomach. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Just Niall’s warm breath on his skin feels good, but Zayn needs more. His knee rests at the side of Niall’s hip, and Niall feels over it with an open hand, slipping his fingers up to the trim of the black knickers.

“If you’d wanted lace, all you had to do was ask,” he smirks.

Gently weighing Niall to lie on the bed, Zayn smiles cheekily and arches his back, bum tilted high as he snogs Niall within an inch of his life. Judging by the fierce grabs at his arse, Zayn thinks that Niall definitely appreciates the extra effort. His mouth pushes rough and open against Zayn’s, big arms wrapping around his torso in a tight, needy grip.

“Is this how you’d treat a lady?” Zayn manages to sneak in.

“Would if I was this turned on,” Niall answers, turning over and straddling Zayn’s hips. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Zayn hums his thanks into another kiss, the curve of his spine inviting Niall’s lips lower and lower still, till his fingers peel back the lace that’d been pinning Zayn’s cock down. Niall takes to it like he’s made for sucking dick, all lewd licks and laps and slurps. Actually, the only time he stops is to slide the knickers off one leg, leaving them draped from Zayn’s bent knee.

Heavens open in Zayn’s body when Niall tugs him into a good position and starts licking him out. Niall’s tongue has a lot of talents—and Zayn means _a lot_ —but they’ve always served his arse best of all, with the little flicks and long, slow slides. He gets a finger in without any trouble, though the second has him scrambling for the lube on Zayn’s bedside table.

“O _hh_ ,” Zayn groans, getting his legs as far apart as he can without releasing Niall’s hips between them. Three fingers in and Zayn’s so fucking ready for it, brain simply not believing that he’d never tried this before with the way Niall’s just gone absolutely insane right now. “Yeah, c’mon, I can take you.”

“Ride me,” Niall says. For one slow, careful moment, he strokes his hand down the fabric, pressing it to Zayn’s side while their rough breathing paints the room amazing colours. Then the fire is back, and Niall yanks Zayn on top of him.

Niall’s pretty face is bright and shiny, eyes wide and eager as he unbuckles his trousers, pushes them down just enough to get his cock out.

“Nah, don’t,” he says apologetically when Zayn goes to blow him. “Not g’nna last if you do. That outfit’s done a number on me, if I’m honest.”

“Same,” Zayn admits, ducking in for a quick kiss. “Condom, or no?”

“I don’t care.” The tightness of his voice is twined with a frantic sort of impatience as his hips bump up.

Working his lubed hand over Niall’s dick, Zayn considers it, and eventually just says, “Nah.”

“Okay, then fuckin’ get on,” Niall begs, holding the base so that his dick stands tall.

Zayn kisses him harder, kisses him till he’s getting breathy and calm, then lets just the tip inside. Niall’s mouth stutters as he takes in a little gasp, pale hands jumping from Zayn’s knees to his waist and clenching hard in the draped fabric.

Like a tease, Zayn takes his time. They’ve done this enough that he appreciates the burn, loves it the same way he loves Niall’s nails clawing up his back, and he’s definitely been stretched properly. He just wants to see Niall overrun with his own want, see him bite his bottom lip to keep more pleas from spilling out.

There’s something empowering about Niall being on his back and fully clothed while Zayn bounces on his dick, in lingerie. Zayn draws up and down, further each time, watching Niall pant and stare at Zayn’s face.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he says, grinning. His tee shirt is rumpled around his armpits from when he’d scrambled to get his flies undone, showing off his pink tummy. Zayn starts properly riding him, pushing up off Niall’s chest the way he likes, reveling in the rough grip Niall takes on his arse, tugging him into a faster pace when Zayn decides to slow it down.

“So you like this, then?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah,” Niall says, throat raw.

“More than the stupid…” For a second, Zayn loses his voice, driven into a soft moan when Niall bucks and rubs up against his sweet spot. He finds it again, distracted but determined. “…the stupid knickers? Does this look better?”

“So much better,” Niall agrees. His eyes snap shut, a groan sloping his brows – he’s close. “Oh, shit, slow down.”

Zayn lowers slowly onto Niall’s hips and leaves his body there, left inner corner of the negligee resting on his cock. He pushes it away and starts stroking, waiting for Niall to get calm.

“This is just too fuckin’ good,” Niall says, still red and definitely still well turned on beyond belief. “You have no idea how… You’re beautiful.”

He doesn’t give Zayn a second to absorb that, to think – his hand covers Zayn’s and tightens, pulls hard and fast as his hips shift, finding the perfect angle. Zayn’s head lolls back as he thanks any higher being listening, choking out sounds and moving along with Niall as they work towards his finish.

Niall is alternating between touching Zayn’s thighs and stomach, and closing his eyes and letting his head fall to the pillow, trying to last. Zayn admires his effort to get Zayn off before himself, but really, Niall was doomed from the start.

“Oh shit, oh _shit_ ,” Niall bites out, pursing his lips but giving up and letting them fall open.

Zayn sees his abs tighten, picking up Niall’s slack and jerking his fist nice and quick on the head. In his post-coming daze, Niall gives a useless attempt at helping, letting Zayn fuck himself even though it’s obviously uncomfortable.

Niall winces as Zayn goes tight around his dick, and Zayn closes off the world with a shaky sigh as he unloads onto Niall’s tee shirt.

“Small price to pay,” Niall jokes weakly.

“God, yeah,” Zayn smiles, lying out at Niall’s side.

He notes that down as one of the best fucks they’ve ever had, which is absolutely _ridiculous_ because—

“You’re fantastic,” Niall grins. “Thanks for indulging me.”

Maybe it’s not so ridiculous. Maybe this is okay if it’s for Niall, just Niall.

“Are you going to keep this?” Niall asks, sliding his finger under the strap.

“Yeah – cost me, like, thirty quid,” Zayn smirks. Niall looks thoughtful, like he’s memorising it, like he thinks that this will be the only time he ever gets to see Zayn like this, so Zayn’s face softens. “And I like, it, so…”

“You like it,” Niall says. “Do you really?”

Zayn glances down at the flat cups and the knickers that are still slouched around one knee, along with his stocking. He doesn’t feel as pretty as he does sexy, absolutely fucked-out and… incredible.

“I love it,” he says, no question mark hanging precariously at the end.

“If you hadn’t wanted pink, I actually bought others,” Niall says.

“Wanted nicer, like.” Zayn shrugs. He pulls the knickers off and holds them on his thumb. “Wanted _these_.”

Niall swallows. “Jesus Christ.”

When they were younger, a bit sillier and a _lot_ hornier, they’d have days where they didn’t leave their hotel room for _hours_. So long as there was an on-suite and some food for snack breaks, they could get off with each other until an orgasm just meant an intense few seconds and an embarrassing dribble. The others would be merciless with their teasing, but as long as Niall looked just on the cheeky side of content, Zayn could overlook the jibes.

They snog, and Niall finally gets his kit off, thank God. He smiles like he’s up to something, then works his way down, licks his own come out of Zayn’s arse – something Zayn’s overly sensitive about unless he’s cleaned properly, which he had, just in case. Niall blows him for about five minutes, alternating between his dick and his hole until Zayn shudders and comes again.

Niall fucks him lazily, pulls out and makes Zayn put the knickers—the wonderful knickers—back on so that he can splatter them with a tiny streak of jizz.

It’s nothing like their record—what a great day that was, Zayn thinks fondly—but it’s still good. Niall insists on removing every part of Zayn’s outfit, kissing and cuddling under the duvet until Zayn gets sleepy and yawns into Niall’s neck.

“Aw, poor Zaynie baby,” Niall coos.

“I wore the knickers, now let me rest,” Zayn prods.

“Fair enough.” Niall sneaks in another big, wet kiss. “Love you.”

“Yeah, love you, too,” Zayn grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from P!nk's _This Is How It Goes Down_.
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


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